Kate Griffin

“We...find it hard to conceive of...of a consciousness whose power, intellect and capacity can be both infinite and capable of caring," we replied. "We find it hard to accept that there is an unknown thing set above us, to judge us, that we cannot judge in return. Such a concept is, it would appear to us, injustice incarnate, not redemption at all.”

“We were beginning to understand why, in pre-anaesthetic days, the Bible had stipulated that suicide was a sin. Anything other than the prospect of eternal damnation, and the human race would probably have done away with itself at the first sign of the dentist.”

“Whatever happened next, good or bad, it would be wonderful finding out.”

“I spent the day with the pigeons, on a bench in Trafalgar Square, my bag of belongings huddled to my chest in case someone thought of taking them, and a pile of breadcrumbs at my feet. I let the pigeons congregate around me ... Eventually a local warden came up to me and said , "Sir, we ask people not to feed the pigeons," with such an expression of civic determination that I pretense not to understand English. Instead, I listed my way through various "eh?" sounds until, having exhausted his two words of French and three of Spanish, he concluded that since I was neither nationality, I wasn't worth the bother.”

“The dream state just before wakening when it seems perfectly logical for the goldfish not to like peeling its own potatoes on the bus.”

“Between Friday evening and Sunday afternoon, I broke into a total of six offices, one penthouse suite and a small bank, and cursed them all. I cursed the stones they were built on, the bricks in their walls, the paint on their ceilings, the carpets on their floors. I cursed the nylon chairs to give their owners little electric shocks, I cursed the markers to squeak on the whiteboard, the hinges to rust, the glass to run, the windows to stick, the fans to whir, the chairs to break, the computers to crash, the papers to crease, the pens to smear; I cursed the pipes to leak, the coolers to drip, the pictures to sag, the phones to crackle and the wires to spark. And we enjoyed it.”

“Offer me?" A shrill note of indignation entered her voice. "Young man, there are three things that make Britain great. The first is our inability at playing sports."How does that make Britain great?""Despite the certainty of loss, we try anyway with the absolute conviction that this year will be the one, regardless of all evidence to the contrary!"I raised my eyebrows, but that simply meant I could see my blood more clearly, so looked away and said nothing."The second," she went on, "is the BBC. It may be erratic, tabloid, under-funded and unreliable, but without the World Service, obscure Dickens adaptions, the Today Program and Doctor Who, I honestly believe that the cultural and communal capacity of this country would have declined to the level of the apeman, largely owing to the advent of the mobile phone!""Oh," I said, feeling that something was expected. "Oh" was enough."And lastly, we have the NHS!""This is an NHS service?" I asked incredulously."I didn't say that, I merely pointed out that the NHS makes Britain great. Now lie still.”

“Me?" Penny's voice, surprised. "Well, I'm Penny Ngwenya, Matthew's butt-kicking, life-saving, totally awesome apprentice. Um. Hi.”

“If I had to be succinct, I guess I would say that urban magic works on the premise that magic is created by life. And life, these days, is about the underground, the buses, the street lamps, the smell of Chinese take away and the footsteps you half-thought you could hear behind you in the empty car park, but which are gone when you look again.”

“We be light, we be life, we be fire! We sing electric flame, we rumble underground wind, we dance heaven! Come be we and be free!”

“The majority of the employees here are civilians," explained my Alderman guide/protector/companion/would-be-executioner as we strode without a word to the security guards through the foyer towards the lifts. "They conduct themselves within perfectly standard financial services and regulations. There is one specialist suboperational department catering to the financing of more...unusual extra-capital ventures, and the executive assets who operate it have to undergo a rigorous level of training, psyche evaluation, personality assessment, and team operational analyses."We stared at him, and said, "We barely understood the little words.""No," he replied, "I didn't think you would.”

“The armored men counted to three, then burst inside the flat, shouting impressive things like "clear!" or "go go go!" as they did. Oda said, "Gum?""You chew gum?""No. but I always carry it, to use as barter when visiting prisons.""Do you see how I'm not asking you?""Smart.”

“When last I checked, you were a sorcerer, not a Jedi.""You've seen Star Wars?""Seen it and denounced it.""You've denounced Star Wars?"She looked me straight in the eye and said, "Hollywood should not glorify witches.""I think you've missed the point...""I also denounce Harry Potter.""Really?""Yes.""Because...""...because literature, especially children's literature, should not glorify witches.""Oda, what do you do for fun?"She thought about it, then said, without a jot of humor, "I denounce things.”

“There was almost a flicker of humanity in the man. The kind of human who pulled wings off flies as a kid, but still human.”

“I got dressed. You can't be Midnight Mayor in your underpants.”

“Men don't ask other men if they're getting home OK, they just assume that beneath the frail, weak exterior lurks a muscle-building kung fu master fearless of ever being mugged.”

“I looked at Judith. "This sounds strange, but I don't suppose you saw three mad women with a cauldron of boiling tea pass by this way?""No," she replied. The polite voice of reasonable people scared of exciting the madman."Flash of light? Puff of smoke? Erm..." I tried to find a polite way of describing the symptoms of spontaneous teleportation without using the dreaded "teleportation" word. I failed. I slumped back into the sand. What kind of mystic kept a spatial vortex at the bottom of their cauldrons of tea anyway?”

“But it's not healthy!” replied the Hag. “A mortal and a god sharing the same flesh?”“You know, this isn't why we're here. I can get abuse pretty much wherever.”“Yeah,” sighed the Maid, “but I bet a tenner I can make you cry in half a minute.”

“The whole calamity would be in one of those police reports that D. B. Sinclair and his "concerned citizens" filed carefully under "T" for "Things" at the back of a locked filing cabinet in the vehicle-licensing centre a day before a bonfire got accidentally out of control.”

“Paranoia seems more reasonable when you've got twelve stitches in your side.”

“Curiosity may have killed the cat, but paranoia was what tied it up in a sack and buried it in wet concrete.”

“Always be polite to possible murderers: that was the twenty-four-hour-shopping philosophy.”

“Whoever had said in the guidebooks that the bum bag was a sensible device against theft had lied; no single item of dressware ever invented cried out "mug me" more than a pouch of zip-up plastic suspended by your groin.”

“Never underestimate the ridiculous things that have been done in the name of religious-semantic obscurity.”

“You want to know a secret?""Always.""My real name is Dave.""I see.""This doesn't seem to amuse you.""I met Jeremy the troll a few nights ago.""Seriously?""Seriously. Also known as the Mighty Raaaarrggh! Although...I can sorta see why you changed the name. 'Dave' isn't knwon for its mysterious, mystic sexiness.”

“The van stank of cabbage and cornered like a drunken elephant. It would do.”

“So...I suggest you try and get control over your more unusual nature, see if you can't coax those claws away, and I'll try very, very hard not to throw up over what's left of your shoes. How does that sound?”

“When humans work, they frequently become unaware of their own body, their own senses, are surprised to find that their wrists ache or their backs are sore or their friend has left the building. It's as close to an out-of-body experience as can be achieved short of fifty volts, a circle of warding, a pigeon's claw cut from an albino female of purest white feathers, or a lot of mushrooms.”

“The exorcist had a slightly Australian tinge to his voice, and the laid-back, whatever-comes-next attitude of a man who had suddenly realised two degrees short of a sunstroke that exorcism was the perfect career choice he'd never been offered in school.”

“It was an excellent coat. It was long, grey, suspiciously blotched, smelt faintly of dust and old curries, went all the way down to my knees and overhung my wrists even when I stretched out my arms. It had big, smelly pockets, crunchy with crumbs, it boasted the remnants of a waterproof sheen, was missing a few buttons, and had once been beige. It was the coat that detectives down the ages had worn while trailing a beautiful, dangerous, presumably blond suspect in the rain, the coat that no one noticed, shapeless, bland and grey - it suited my purpose perfectly.”

“I was the apprentice of Robert James Bakker. I'm sure you've heard of him. I am a sorcerer. I was there when Bakker died. We... made it happen. I too have met death, and did not have to peel the bones away from my chest to survive the encounter. I am also, and incidentally, the Midnight Mayor, the blue electric angels, the fire in the wire, the song in the telephones, and we are having a bad week. Be smart; fear us.”

“We ran, as graceful as a burst beetroot.”

“He glanced up as I entered, and for a moment, looked almost surprised."Mr. Swift!""Ta-da!" I exclaimed weakly."You're still...""Still not dead. That's me. It's my big party trick, still not being dead, gets them every time.”

“Someone says 'inauguration' in my line of work, and you can just bet there'll be freaky shit. It's like quests. You get told to 'go forth and seek the travelcard of destiny' and you know, I mean, you seriously know that it won't have just been left down the back of the sofa.”

“Never argue with the surreal; there's no winning against irrationality.”

“You know, yeah, it seems to me like there are two kinds of chosen one. There's the kinda who gets chosen for a thing without any say, like someone who gets picked- kings and queens and shit. Then there's the other kind of chosen one; the guy who stands up when everyone else is afraid, when no one else can decide. Guy who chooses to fight, or do the thing that no one else will, 'cause it has to be done, yeah? I mean, most times, that guy's a total shit. And sometimes he's the hero. Seems to me that you're a bit of both.”

“It's the new me," I explained, waving my hands jazz-style in greeting. "Matthew Swift, Midnight fucking Mayor - I've got multicoloured highlighters and everything.”

“Are you aware, Mr Mayor, then when casually scrying the streets of London, you stand out like a giraffe on roller skates, yes?”